OfflineHomeOneDeathStar
Off-line Gaming page has been revised - 1000 xp for those players who resolve their individual scenarios. Bonus xp for those that manage to engage others/tie into the overall intent. Previous gaming day account (Biggs Report / Officer Needa report) Tallian Valinar: Synopsis: Valinar finds himself with Princess Leia Organa at the Duro Mining Colony (#7). A Duro miner Chekov (rebel sympathizer) helped them get away from the docking bay. Chekov has kept them hidden in the mining camp barracks for several days while the two tend to their wounds, and wait for the storm trooper patrols to leave. Chekov awakens the pair of them this morning, greeting the two of them with food, travelling clothes, upto two heavy blaster pistols each, hand held communicator, flare gun, and two cred-sticks with 1000 cr on each. A hauler is expected to arrive this morning, which after a couple of stops at other mining colonies will rendez-vous with its orbital component and breach orbit for a local space station. Chekov: Anything else I can offer you? Leia: You have been an inspiration, I had lost all hope when the TIE Marine arrived. Valinar, as I may be recognized, I will need you to secure transport on the arriving hauler. Roth: Synopsis: Roth finds himself in a connundrum. As a Merc with the rebels he has made some good money in the short term, but has never been so badly injured or mentally abused in his life. Col. Serra, pleased with a report from the Duro Captain Zukof has been asked to introduce him to one of the other independents operating outside the Rebel command heirarchy. Serra apponts Roth Senior Merc in his company, and invites him into his inner circle. He is introduced to the Bothan Borsk Fey'lya, a dog faced noble civillian. Borsk: Roth, it is important for you to know that I am affiliated with the Bothan Spynet, a group known as "Deep Ear". I know everything there is to know about you, and the reality is, there is very little. I like that in an operative. Serra: Roth, I will pay you 5,000 cr to walk out of this room, and forget this meeting ever occured. Borsk: I will pay you 10,000 cr to simply hear me out, recognize we did not invite your do-good Jedi-wanta be Gorbie into this meeting. We have some tasks, that only someone as 'dark' as you could handle. If you stay, we can negotiate a final price for the three tasks I have for you. Roth: Sorry Colonel, money talks. I'm listening Borsk. Borsk: You may go now Col. Serra, double your usual commission will apply. Serra: Roth is not as simple to control as I am, but he does follow orders. Respect that. Watch your six, and always have an escape plan Borsk: I need you to make two people disappear: Will, an Chandrillian Engineer on board Home One; Captain Kohog, A Kel Dor of the Fuel Refining Ship Q-Tanker. The ship is crewed by only Kel Dor, and as such the atmosphere would be toxic to you. That said, you could easily pass for one of them with a modified Kel Dor breath mask. Easier still, Kohog like many of the fleet will be on board Home One in 8 standard hours for an event to be held at the Rebel Yell freezone. I leave the methods up to you. These two targets can be eliminated, or incapacitated but must be done as soon as possible. We believe these two are Imperial agents or otherwise compromized and looking to destabilze the fleet. We know their attack is expected immenently, within the next 24 hours. I have two pills. You must ingest one of them. The blue pill will erase your short term memory, and signifies your unwillingness to take the actions necessary. The red pill is a symbolic gesture of your commitment. . What's your price? I8-U2 Synopsis: After suffering traumatic damage to the main body and heuristic processor (two crits!) prior to the destruction of the Aldera and his beloved droids, I8-U2 finds himself at the mercy of the Rebel Mechanics in the droid stable on Home One. When his systems reinitialize, he uncovers that it has been almost two days since he was last activated, and there was an attempt to mind-wipe and reformat his heuristic processor as a base Protocol Droid, a fate worse than death. After performing a full diagnostic, he finds new hardware has been installed (10,000 cr worth, sorry about the lost gear dude!) and a program installed by userID "DroidTech15". The program, "ForYavin.bat", currently dormant but resident in core 1 of I8-U2's heuristic processor, is scheduled to run 30 minutes, and appears to exert shared control of his locomotive functions.' Diagnostic screen: Report complete, 30 minutes till activation of ForYavin.bat Almost two days ago: B16-1d10T a surly hauler Droid assigned to section 32 squeeks to a stop in front of a dingy doorway, a faded lime-green "D" is stencilled onto the door, with a quick flick of its wheels the Droid turns 90 degrees, viciously mashing its cargo probe against the entry pad in a swift sharp arc. The probe strikes with enough force to dent the tarnished alloy finish, yet again. The hatch splits down the middle and begins opening smoothly to section D, the servo motor strains in protest halfway through the procedure, an agonizing shrill metal screech and straining servo continues for five full seconds before the opening is completed. B16-1d10T slyly releases the torque pressure from its forward wheels pressing against the hatch, allowing it to finish opening unmolested: disappointingly, 2nd Class Junior Tech Res Lo all too aware of the sadistic personality of B16-1d10T, continues to nap peaceably on the maintaince theatre's repair slab, wearing a pair of ear-plugs underneath his flight-deck issued ear-mufflers. With a sharp and shrill bleep B16-1d10T, announces its presence with as much volume the vocabulator will allow, twice; Res Lo scratches his belly thoughtfully through his three-day old stained coverall and continues to snore. With a disgusted snort B16-1d10T, lifts its hauler pod to maximum extension, while rotating the pod into its evacuation position, with a soft click the pod opens and its contents shower to the floor of the maintained deck. With soft thuds and gentle tinkling the battered remains of a Droid spill out, on the rubberized slip-proof floor matting, even the large torso and head, still intact, mostly, make little noise: Res doesn't react to the quiet cascade of parts. A snarky collection of blurts and snorts announces the departure of B16-1d10T, its only satisfaction to be had, this time, was seeing the battered remains of Protocol Droid upon the floor, a Czerka model too - the uppity bastards. The wheels of B16-1d10T recede into the distance as the quiet purring whirls and clicks of equipment in section D, once again reclaim dominance, disrupted only occasionally by a snort or snore from the operating slab. Res Lo, Junior Technician. Second class, of section D32: if Home One had a roster of its crew organized by section and indexed by personality Res Lo would be at top of the charts for spineless, lazy, malcontented Droid-Techs. The only saving grace Res Lo possessed was a mediocre talent for Droid mechanics, that made him slightly more useful than a repair Droid that could work for 100 hours in a single shift, was that Res could repair and maintain a number of repair droids at once. After a series of reprimands and an unswerving desire to take no responsibility, but as much acclaim as possible, Res was promoted to team-leader of his own section: the repair and maintenance of Droids belonging to hired mercenaries. Res, as ambitious as he was lazy didn't think too much when his previous supervisor offered him the position with a tight lipped look and a certain sparkle in his eye. Res accepted immediately. A few days after his lateral promotion and new security clearance, Res celebrated within the dim confines of the Rebel Yell, alone, only then did it occur to Res that mercenaries, don't typically use Droids, and if they do, they don't usually bring them back if they are broken - because that means they are usually destroyed and cannot be repaired. The hang-over of that particular evening was monumental. With a scornful yawn, Res Lo awakens and slowly rolls over onto his belly and surveys his surroundings through silted, squinting eyes surveying his kingdom. Apparently, the new floor padding did the job, that testy little bastard B16-1d10T had come in and tried to bother him by dumping parts all over the flooring again. One day, Res promised himself, he would use his terminal to find out where B16-1d10T went to recharge and sabotage the socket frying the sadistic processor. He'd use the chassis for a lavatory, it will be glorious. Something in the periphery of Res Lo's mind makes him focus on the parts strewn about the floor again. With a start Res jumps to his feet, his mouth hanging open, it wasn't another load of air-scrubbers and power connectors that were dumped onto the floor, but an actual Droid! A Droid that, against all probability was from a group of mercenaries and had been sent to his department! And look! Real battle damage too! That blaster scoring looked just like the damage on a Y-wing, exceept he was allowed to try and fix it, and not be escorted out of the fighter hangars because his new security clearance didn't permit him access. Res clutches his chest, fingers digging into his sour pale flesh trying to grab at his quaking heart, while biting his other hand ferociously. This wasn't just any Droid, this was a Czerka protocol Droid! By the ghost balls of the Force spirits! A Czerka! There was no doubt in Res Lo's mind that he had been given access to not some lowly translator Droid damaged in some Sullustan scuffle, but, what must obviously be, like all Czerka protocol Droids most assuredly are, deadly assassin Droids with secret programming to obey their master and kill people. With a series of straining grunts, Res drags the torso and head and a pair of limbs dragged by internal wiring to the central diagnostic terminal and places the remains onto the lift system that slowly eases the parts on the operating slab. With deft fingers he runs a series of mechanic and powering tests on the assembled parts, without attempting to engage or activate the heurestic systems. The additional parts, scatter about the floor are collected and tested in a similar fashion. Within hours the Droid is assembled and repaired.... Res blinks again and yawns, a tendril of drool oozes him lip and down from his perch upon the operating table to the floor below, yes indeed, it does appear to be a Czerka droid that lays scattered on the floor and when fully awake, fixing it is probably a good idea. But right now, it's naptime. After a heavy greasy meal later in the evening and candlestine meetings, Res Lo gives the final departing mouse-bot a swift kick out the hatch, knocking it on its side as it strikes against the opposing wall, it and its cadre of cleaners bots collected all the errant Droid pieces and assembled them upon the lowered maintenance slab while Res dined. Res thoughtfully ignores the pleading bleats from the mouse-bot, locking section 32D, turning to his central diagnostic console. Res sits heavily into the padded console chair which groans in protest to his infrequent girth. Momentarily his eyes pass over com-link that all technicians are given while on duty, and considers turning it on - until he remembers that he disabled it, so no one could call him, forcing people who wanted to contact him to send remote messages through his personal terminal, which was somewhere in the room, turned off. With his head in his hand, Res quickly skips over the various diagnostic messages about the Droid on the terminal screen, while staring at the Rebel poster girl, strategically pasted to the wall,to be equally enjoyed from his cot, or the console chair. Resting on the adjoining bench is a small unassuming grey technical case, matched identically the two, much larger unassuming grey cases resting on the floor next to the console - the results of his underhanded exploits. Res ponders a moment upon that unassuming grey colour, that is almost uniformly used to hold military, if not outright illegally Droid hardware. All of his favours were cashed in now, having burnt out every single source he possessed, which, upon reflection were not that considerable and explained why the cases didn't really hold anything exotic or unique, but at least if Res pretended, it felt better. Making a half-hearted attempt at reading the manuals for the grey-market hardware, Res Lo decided the best course of action was to place a prioirty work order and request two repair droids to assist him, and then give them the task of repairing and installing the new upgrades in the chassis of the Czerka Protocol Droid. Having performed the standard mind-wipe, and making an extreme effort to erase the records of the arrival of the remains, Res Lo was confident a new string of promotions were clearly in the near future. By mid-cycle, the repair droids had left and the dormant Droid had been restored, Res Lo sat at his console sipping some hot, sugary caffeine while running some final heuristics and behavioural tests on the Czerka unit, nodding with satisfaction to himself. Res Lo stood up, and straightened out his freshly laundered uniform grabbing his control wand from the console, a quick check in the mirror revealed he looked as good as he was going to, making him quickly avert his eyes and instead stare at the form resting on the theatre table. His salvation. In his own private ceremony to himself, Res Lo, formally congratulated himself on his hard work and the bright future before him. Saluting the control rod to his head, Res plunged his meaty finger on the "Release" button. With a series of hisses, the power fluid and power connectors released themselves from the open receptacles on the dormant Droid's form and retract into the table. The opened ports on the Droid are in-turn sealed by remote arms. The room falls silence again. Res Lo gulps in anticipation. With a glance he looks down at the control wand and locates the "Lower" button and plugs it with a sweaty finger. A low whirl sounds as the operating table slowly tilts and the Droid's form is raised from prone to standing. With a dull clank the table reaches its lowered position and falls silent. Unconsciously Res quietly clicks the "Unlock" button and a sharp set of clicks release the Droid, which clanks against the lower footrest of the table. The noise makes Res jump. Res Lo stares at the control wand, the saturated green button for "Power" remained unlit. Res stares at the Droid, looking into its dark unlit visual sensors. Res's eyes drift down from the vacant optics to the chest of the Droid, and focuses on the newly installed behavioural inhibitor, Res smiled to himself. Sure he found the military grade shield generator, the concealed leg holsters, and a host of other hardware, not forgetting the stash of programming chips kept in the concealed chest compartment! This, was most certainly not a Protocol Droid, and with its original programming erased and the new stuff installed, he was going to have his own personal assassin. With glee, Res Lo clicks the "Power" button. Hard. A hum immediately starts up from the Droid, which becomes instantly silenced by the contra-sound generators designed to mask it. And the blank optic sensors, flicker a moment and glow red. "Master." With an electronic farting noise and pop followed by the swift stink of ozone the red glow fades. Res Lo, stares in disbelief. The hum disappears as quietly as returns and the red glow returns to the momentarily darkened optics. Res Lo releases a great sigh of relief. Which is fortunate, because the lightening fast metal fist striking his sternum only stuns him, and knocks him to the ground and not winding him as well. The crimson Droid gracefully steps down from the operating table and stands over Res Lo's gasping quivering form, an inaudible click and a sudden flash of silver and a sleek aero-styled blaster is held gently and confidently in the cold grip of I8-U2. The dark red optics stare down, unblinking, at the stunned form. With a quiet click from somewhere on the silver dart-like weapon, a flash and gentle recoil follows the weapon discharge, most of Res Lo's hand and the control wand become fused and equally useless. "But, but.. but. I'm your master!" sobs Res Lo. "I installed an inhibitor! You can`t do that!" The crimson Droid ignores the obvious logic errors in the stated proclamation, standing a moment, perhaps considering the absurdity of it all. "Indeed sir, as you lay sprawled upon the floor I understand your inability to processes these events in a timely manner, you are only, organic. If I may, sir, please catch your last few breaths while I explain. A behavioural inhibitor stops a Droid doing what it`s not supposed to do. I am a Type 4 Droid, which are entirely authorized to terminate meat-bags, such as yourself.`` I8-U2 swings the silvery-dart blaster at the head of Res Lo. "And you, you miserable cretin are most certainly not my master. No one is." and fires. The hatch to maintence section 32D begins to open a shrill metal screams are heard for five seconds before finally opening. The hatch stands ajar for short while until a self-satisfied chirping can be heard as B16-1d10T comes wheeling out with a moderate burden in its hauler pod and a priority 1 delivery to the automated incinerator. GM: Outstanding! Encore! Bravo! Shame the hero of the story had to die.... Lo could have made a good character for Martin! Min Talon: Synopsis: J2B's bionic arm got torn out of it's socket by a TIE Marine on a mission to disrupt the Wookie Harvesting facility on Kashyyyk. Min has been requested to assist the surgeon on the Rebel Medical Frigate Redemption. Recognizing fee for service can be negotiated later, she finds her way to the hangar deck, where a inter-fleet transport shuttle is waiting. When she boards the shuttle, she recognizes Crewman Tarsis from the Imperial Frigate Agamemnon, where Min did her first tour of duty (season 1, episode 2). The ship was captured by the Rebels, and was suspected that Captain Arl Hextrophon was complict in his capture. When Min boards, Tarsis responds in fear of the TIE Marine who previous served with him in his former Imperial life... at the same time a crackle over the comm reads.. Comm: "Taris, double time it to the Redemption... J2B has taken a turn for the worse" Tarsis: "I have a situation here..." Min: "Easy there, ol' buddy, don't shoot. Looks like we've ended up on the same side again, isn't life funny that way? I'm the doc sent to tend to J2B so we shouldn't delay" Tarsis: Heh, funny. Let's go save J2B!! Situation Normal. Out of Breath Nurse: Talon, our chief surgeon has been maimed by corrosive agent implanted into J2B after his defeat on Kashyyk. Our primary medical staff is on mission, the droids are useless and the EMH is off line. We have no one else trained in cybernetic surgery who can either install replacement hand units on Dr. Macdreemeigh or remove the now corroded reinforced exoskelton that is currently poisoning J2B. We are keeping both in bacta tanks, awaiting for your choice. No one was lost when the thermal detonator from J2B's arm exploded thankfully, but there is still risk of other traps within him. If you install hands on the Dr, He will work on J2B... however, J2B is growing weaker, and may not survive the wait. What do you want to do? Min: Call me Macsteemeigh, I'll work on J2B! Gorbie-Wan: Synopsis: Gorbie-Wan has been re-assigned to the command of General Cracken in order to create a SpecOps team to capture or kill the TIE Marine that is hunting him. He also has to deal with his squadron leader, and his potential to take Rogue Squadron rogue. Wedge: Gorbie, good to see you. Given any thought to my request Gorbie: Sir, I have a plan, we can get more resources, we can take this Death Star from the inside. It won't be easy, but I think this is what we're meant to do. I have authorisation to put together a team to look for TIE Marines, and I know you have experience with them. Wedge: Sounds like a suicide mission, tell me more. Gorbie: Give me just a bit of time, and I think we can save millions of lives, take out the death star, delay the attack on Yavin IV, and dance with some TIE Marines in the process. How many people are with you? Wedge: I don't know. I asked each member of Rogue Squadron to meet me in the hangar at midnight tomorrow. Those that show, are with me. It's funny Gorbie: Lt. Gorbie-Wan "Paladin" Kenobi. Wedge: The squad seemed to think you are a wandering warrior hero, willing to risk his life to help anyone in need. With Biggs MIA, there was a line formed with people willing to be your wingman, including myself. There is a crew scheduled to complete the rediness check on this T-65 B starfighter, though I don't think they will get around to changing the stenciled graphics for at least 24 hours, should that matter to you Paladin. Gorbie: ... Craken: Send him in At ease, what have have you decided Kenobi? Gorbie: General, I don't believe that the TIE Marine will be on Duros anymore. They think the ship went down, and he will likely go back to report, and I reason to believe this will be on the Death Star. Now, we know where the Death Star will be, but of course we can't attack base like that head on, however, I believe 24 fighter-class ships can dock, and we can take it from the inside. How is this possible? A small strike team can go release the prisoners, and very quickly we outnumber the crew. This base was built for capital ships. I don't believe they will have built this ship, or have the appropriate on-board defences for a commando squad. This mission will have the following goals, and this is the big picture. Details need to be worked out, with strategic geniuses such as yourself and Admiral Ackbar. 1) Delay Death Star laser from firing (sabotage) 2) Release Alderaan People prisoner on-board the death star (will need evac afterwards. 3) Destroy or Capture Death Star 4) Capture or Kill TIE Marines Cracken: Approved, get to work. Gorbie: Sir I believe this is all possible without putting the fleet at risk, and thus I would like to immediately begin to assemble a team, with discretion, but potentially more than 24 than originally planned. When will we ever have a chance to attack their prized possession on our own turf? When will we have a chance to save millions of people, and very likely recruiting thousands, if not more for the cause? Sir many would think potentially losing a base to be a loss for our cause, but I think this is an opportunity to tilt the tide of the war in our favour. And if you had that chance, wouldn't you risk your life for it? I would. Cracken: Approved, get to work. Gorbie: I would also need Min and Roth need to hop in a quick ship on a mission for me (can I give missions now?? good.). Go to Tatooine. Min is to find Obi-Wan, Roth needs to find info, and if possible bail out Darklighter. I owe Biggs that much. Make sure they have room on the ship to make it back w/ Darklighter. Roth can make aweome contacts for his prestige now as well. They are to meet us at Yavin IV, hopefully to make it on the Death Star for assault if it takes them long, otherwise to be picked up with a ship that will help with the extractions of the Alderaan people. Cracken: Denied, no TIE Marines to kill in the Outer rim. Darvin Valton and Joey Zarrick: Synopsis: The dynamic duo find themselves in a bar, as per normal. The Rebel Yell is a popular gathering point where human (or non-Mon Calamari) commissioned, non-commisioned and mercs can gather and trade tall tales on board Home One (98% of the crew is Mon Calamari volunteers). Today, the tone is much more somber. Ryan a Tech from Alderaan and Will and Engineer from Chandrilla are clearly recruiting people to act out against command for not sending the fleet to the base in the Yavin system in response to the clear liklihood of Imperial attack. Ryan: None of the fish crew care about humans, we all have to stick together, and make a point. Will: Guys like you can carry a lot of weight, we could really use your help. We are going to take some actions to get the attention of command, and ensure they take responsibility for our comrades in harms way. Are you with us, or are you leaving the bar now? Rug: Synopsis: Rug stayed with the 20,000 cr Freighter "Winner", instead of rejoining the Rebel fleet at the pick up point. The Duro local METSOP offers current hyperspace data points to the following systems: Corellia, Imperial Center, Kuat, Bestine and Ploo. Each costs 250 cr, and he has 15,000 cr in the bank. Where will he go? *